Monday, August 18, 2014

Special Spotlight : The Quixotics (a fast paced action with romance) by author John Wayne Falbey

 Author John Wayne Falbey
                                                                                            The Quixotics (at Amazon)

Today's Special Spotlight is about an intriguing and fast paced action with romance titled The Quixotics. This novel is written by the multi talented, creative and adventurous author John Wayne Falbey with a host of professional achievements to his credit.

Author Links: Connect with author John Wayne Falbey 

Author's Website :

Author's Twitter handle:@jwfalbey

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Book Spotlight - The Quixotics

Ebook :  THE QUIXOTICS ( a fast paced romantic action)

Author :  John Wayne Falbey

Genre : Mystery,  Thriller, Suspense, Romance

Amazon Stores :

Reviews : multiple 5 stars

Achievements : Endorsed by Compulsion Reads

Book Synopsis 
Unlike today’s returning warriors, veterans of Vietnam were not welcomed home by many of their countrymen. After risking life and limb in an inhospitable country they often were cursed and spit on when they returned to the USA. Disgusted by this reception, some of these fighters turned their backs on their homeland. 

It’s 1970, and three of these young men buy a leaky old sailboat and set out on a leisurely cruise to drink and brawl their way among the islands of the Caribbean Sea. But they had two problems: they don’t know how to sail and they don’t have any money. So a shadowy government agency convinces them to smuggle guns to anti-Castro insurgents in Cuba.
After surviving a hurricane at sea, things go from bad to worse. They’re captured by Castro’s forces, imprisoned, and tortured. But these guys are former special ops soldiers, and manage to escape into the rugged mountains of eastern Cuba. There they meet up with the insurgents and two things happen. The body count rapidly escalates and an unlikely romance blossoms.  


Chapter Excerpt
Stevens and Flynn left the tumbledown building through the same window by which they had entered, and scrambled up the slope behind it. Staying out of sight, they circled along the edge of the jungle atop the rise. Once at the road, they darted across it and continued through the matted forest on the other side until they reached the cliffs above the sea. With great care, necessitated by the slipperiness of the rock walls, they descended the side of the cliff and lowered themselves into the sea at its foot.
The water was very cold. The shock of it felt good to them, however. It melted away the sweat and grime of the hot day, and brought a new, refreshing surge of energy to their tired bodies. At first, they literally gasped for breath until their bodies grew accustomed to the chill of the water.
The coastline at this point circled toward the town, forming a sort of cove. The two men angled away from the shore, swimming toward the open sea for a while. They used a modified breaststroke to avoid splashing and making noise that might attract unwanted attention from someone on shore. When they reached a point about one hundred yards from shore, they began swimming parallel to the shoreline. As they approached the first of the two docks, they slowed to a quiet dog paddle to avoid making any motions or sounds that might be seen or heard by the few early evening fishermen sitting languorously at its tip. They moved past without incident, and steadily stroked their way toward the second dock. Once again, they moved with extreme caution to avoid detection by the fishermen on this dock. At last they eased past, and swung toward shore, aiming for a point about one hundred fifty yards beyond the second dock. It was directly in front of the old fishing camp.
As they crawled stealthily from the dark water onto the narrow, rocky beach, Flynn hissed, “I never thought to ask you, are there sharks in these waters?”
Stevens grinned. “Only around the docks, and then only at night.”
“Jesus.” Flynn shook his head.
They darted swiftly over the beach, which glistened a dull white in the darkness of evening, and took refuge in the black shadows surrounding the old buildings of the fishing camp. After a few moments when they were certain that no one had detected their presence, the two men crawled into one of the two rotting buildings.
It was the one nearest the road, situated diagonally across from the two bars. The interior of the structure was littered with the debris piled up by past storms. As they crept through the structure, they took great care not to stumble over or disturb any of the debris that lay everywhere. All around them in the near total blackness they could hear the scurrying sounds of things moving. The same foolish thought was foremost in the minds of both men. They hoped there were no spiders around; but they knew with certainty that there must be hordes of arachnids swarming throughout the ruined building. Worse even than spiders was the almost certain presence of scorpions, the nasty-looking, poisonous cousins of the spider family that are native to the tropics.
The sounds of things crawling in the rotting, moldy piles of building parts and furniture, and the knowledge of what those things were, made the flesh crawl on both of the men. They each had to struggle very hard to fight off a sense of panic. Each man was aware of the incongruity between the revulsion caused by insects in men who often found it exhilarating to risk their lives in combat with something as ferocious and cunning as another human being.
The hours passed slowly, as they tensely waited in the building. They took advantage of the time to clean and dry their weapons with slightly damp rags they found in the ruins. As the evening eased slowly by, the two Americans took turns surveying the bars across the road from their vantage point. According to the old fisherman, soldiers from the base, denied permission to visit the bars in town by their new commandant, had devised a scheme. They took turns sneaking out a small side door in the wall that surrounded the base, at times when one of their friends had guard duty at that particular station. They would then descend the cliff to the narrow strip of beach below, and slip into town under cover of darkness.
Stevens, having napped briefly, relieved Flynn of surveillance duty and took up a position by the paneless window. From that point he could easily see the two bars. Flynn, settled into a reclining position against a nearby wall and whispered, “I hope you plan to go back a different way than the one we came in. I’m not in favor of swimming past those damn docks again at night.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Stevens said. As he finished speaking, two truckloads of soldiers from the base came roaring up the road through the darkness. The trucks rumbled by their hiding place and on through town.
“Wonder where they’re going?” Flynn said, “Kind of late for maneuvers.”
“Quiet!” Stevens ordered. Two soldiers had just emerged from the nearest bar, and were hurrying across the street toward them. One of the soldiers was still struggling to get into his jacket. It was apparent that they had seen the truckloads of their comrades pass by, and were worried that a mission had come up and their absences would be noticed.
Their eyes had adjusted to the darkness inside, and the two Americans quickly crossed the building. They slipped out the rear door and moved swiftly around the other building toward the beach. They lay quietly in the tall sea grass atop the small embankment that dropped to the rocky shore below.
In a few moments, the two soldiers passed in front of them. Like jungle cats, Stevens and Flynn sprang from the tall grass and hurtled through the night air, crashing down upon their prey.
The Cubans crumbled under the swift and savage assault. Before they could recover their senses or cry out, their assailants had thrust the barrels of their .45s under the soldiers’ chins. The chill of the bare metal spoke more clearly to them more than a thousand words could have. They made no sounds except for the soft moans of one soldier, whose ribs had been injured under the sudden, crushing force of Flynn’s bulk.
The captives were quickly yanked to their feet and marched into the solitude of the nearest building. Here, their soiled, sloppy uniforms were stripped from them, to be donned in turn by the captors. Once dressed, Stevens and Flynn turned to the hapless soldiers and bound their arms behind their backs with strips of cloth torn from their own discarded clothing.
Flynn picked out the one he thought to be the more uncooperative of the two captives. Squatting on the floor in front of the man, he smiled pleasantly and said, “Would you like to answer some questions for my friend?”
The prisoner spit in his face. The smile on Flynn’s face never changed. “We’ll, at least you understand English,” he said. Almost faster than the eye could see, his right hand shot toward the Cuban’s chest. The knife held firmly in it pricked the skin beneath the man’s left breast, slid neatly between his ribs and plunged into his heart. Flynn’s left hand, moving just as swiftly as the right, clamped over the victim’s mouth, effectively strangling any sounds. Flynn didn’t move, he let the dead man’s body fall away from the knife, rather than trouble himself to remove it. Next, he moved in front of the second captive. The poor man, bound and helpless in his ragged underwear, shook mightily with fear. His eyes were open as wide as they possibly could be. With a now sardonic smile, Flynn asked, “How about you? Want to answer those questions?”
Si, SeƱor!” The prisoner readily agreed, his head jerking up and down vigorously.
Flynn nodded toward Stevens, “Your witness, counselor.”

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